


The (Careful) Application of Force

by Trixree



Category: One Piece
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pre-OT3, Pre-Relationship, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Topping from the Bottom, it's a classic fuck-or-die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixree/pseuds/Trixree
Summary: The fight is brief and unsatisfying. The whole thing takes no more than five minutes and no more than two swords. They still hum for blood as Zoro sheathes them and faces the gang's growling, pissed off boss.“Fine,” the man shouts. “We’ll take you then, huh? Plenty of folks will pay to bring a big man down low,” he says nonsensically.“What—” A sharp pain in his ankle cuts him off.A downed man pulls a needle out of Zoro's skin.
Relationships: Monkey D. Luffy/Roronoa Zoro, Monkey D. Luffy/Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji, Monkey D. Luffy/Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 12
Kudos: 231





	The (Careful) Application of Force

**Author's Note:**

> NO BETAS WE DIE LIKE MEN  
> I wrote this instead of studying for the huge exam I have on Tuesday. RIP my gpa

“Ignore them, Zoro,” Nami says, her voice firm and her tone carefully bright. 

The bar patrons around them thrum with drunken energy, jostling them every-so-often among the sea of hot, sticky bodies. Much like Jaya, the small port-town they’ve docked at is known for its general lawlessness and depravity. Port Bactu boasts a bar, smoking lounge, and brothel down nearly every winding dirt street. 

“I have a bad feeling about this place,” Nami had said immediately upon docking. 

“What are all those girls doing without clothes on? Aren’t they cold?” Luffy had asked, a finger firmly up his nose. 

“Hookers,” Zoro had commented. The Cook had kicked him harsh and biting in the shin for that, and had hissed something about respect at him through clenched teeth. 

Resolved to spend as little time in Bactu as possible, the crew had split up to gather the necessary supplies while the two-day log pose had set. Once they had rounded up everything they needed, they would ride out the rest of the time safely aboard  _ Merry,  _ leaving them little opportunity to pick or otherwise get drawn into a fight. The air of Bactu practically  _ promised  _ one. 

The Cook had dragged him away from the others shortly before disembarking, making him swear up and down not to leave Nami’s side. 

“You stick with her if you know what’s good for you, you shitty bastard. Anything happens to her and I’ll gut you like a fish,” he growled through a plume of smoke. But Zoro saw the anxiety in the Cook’s eyes and the worry lining every inch of Nami’s posture. He didn’t need to be told twice. 

How they ended up in this dingy fucking dive-bar, Zoro has no clue. Nami’s small hands are wrapped securely around his arm, her painted-blue nails digging not-so-subtly into his skin. Just across the way, amidst the humid sea of pirates, criminals, and sex-workers, a booth of men openly leer at her. Every so often, they whisper among themselves, eyes never leaving Nami. 

Zoro has the stupid urge to hide her behind his larger frame, but he knows she wouldn’t stand for it. Her jaw is set and determination burns in her eyes. She won’t let them phase her, come hell or high water. Hiding behind Zoro would be admitting weakness. 

“I don’t need booze this bad, ya’ know,” Zoro mumbles. Nami is again trying to catch the attention of the overwhelmed barkeep. 

Her nails rake against his forearm, a warning. “Shut up, Zoro. We came here for your swill and we’ll goddamn get it,” Nami hisses. 

A man bustles into them, sloshing his drink all over Zoro’s boots and un-subtly attempting to cop a feel. Nami doesn’t yelp, but it’s a near thing. She rears up and shoves the man bodily away by the shoulders, quickly returning to Zoro’s side, noticeably closer this time. 

“Jeez, fucking gross,” she gripes casually, but she’s shaken, Zoro can tell. (He would be, too, if some asshole just came up and tried to grab him by the tits.)

Another pirate looking type circles closer and Zoro bares his teeth at the man.  _ Fuck off or die,  _ he tries to project through his eyes alone. The guy gulps and turns tail. 

“Nami, let’s go,” he tries again, feeling that rippling goose-flesh rise again on the back of his neck.  _ Something is wrong,  _ all of his instincts are screaming. No rum in the world is worth this. 

She lifts her head to him, prepared to spit fire, when another asshole tries to make a grab that Zoro knocks aside with a  _ thwap  _ from Wado’s duller edge. Nami’s gaze darkens and she snaps a furious, defeated,  _ fine,  _ before dragging him bodily out of there. 

“Unbelievable!” She bites, pacing the length of the bar like a caged animal. “I hate this place. Why did the log pose have to take us  _ here _ . I swear, that bartop was so sticky that I must have picked up at least ten diseases just from proximity alone.” Nami scoffs. “We were paying customers, and the barkeep couldn’t even be _bothered_ to look at me!”

Before Zoro can even think to respond, a voice he doesn’t recognize drawls, “And what a crime that is, girlie. You’re quite the sight.” 

A portly man with a dark beard of stubble grins lecherously around a thick cigar. Zoro recognizes him and the men that flank him immediately as the group that had been following them with their eyes from the corner booth. Nami shifts imperceptibly closer to his side. 

“No one asked you,” Nami snaps, furious and nervous all at once. 

“No one had to. A man would have to be blind not to notice you, chikie. And notice we  _ have. _ ”

A gun audibly cocks behind them. They’re surrounded on all sides by about seven men.  _ You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,  _ Zoro thinks. Nami begins to twist the pieces of her clima tact together as Zoro slides Wado from her sheath. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the leader of the slobbering pack drawls, but Zoro isn’t fucking paying attention. 

“Can you cast a mirage and make it back to  _ Merry? _ ” he asks, voice low enough not to be heard. The man is monologuing, something about an  _ innovation in the world of pleasure and sensation.  _ Zoro wants to barf almost as much as he wants Nami away from here as fast as possible. 

“Zoro, I’m not leaving you here,” she whispers back. 

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up with you.” 

“--won’t you come try it out with us, dear?” The man croons. His gang draws closer. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna pass,” Nami says. Gunshots go off, but she’s already gone. The mirage Zoro had been talking with just seconds before takes the bullets harmlessly, dissipating into nothing but smoke and color. 

The fight is brief and unsatisfying. The whole thing takes no more than five minutes and no more than two swords. They still hum for blood as Zoro sheathes them and faces the gang's growling, pissed off boss. 

“Fine,” the man shouts. “We’ll take you then, huh? Plenty of folks will pay to bring a big man down low,” he says nonsensically. 

“What—” A sharp pain in his ankle cuts him off. 

_ Fuck. _

A downed man pulls a needle out of his skin, the plunger depressed completely and the clear tube empty. From the ground, through a mouth full of blood, the goon smirks at him. 

The effect is near instantaneous. A wave of drunken lightheadedness sends Zoro staggering a couple steps forward. His tongue feels hot and itchy. His hands are numb around the hilt of Wado. 

“What—What did… you?” his own voice is slurred almost as badly as the Cook’s gets when he’s been drinking, that  _ fucking lightweight _ . Deliriously, Zoro wonders if his face is as pink as the Cook’s gets, too. He’d never fucking admit it, not even under pain of death, but damn does that pink flush make the cook look cute. The sigh t makes Zoro weak. Almost as weak as he feels now. 

He’s staggered and fallen to his knees, but he has no recollection of having gotten there. 

“Pack up the bitch, boys,” Someone is saying. A deep discomfort rises like a swelling tide within him. 

_ Wrong, wrong… this is wrong. Something is wrong.  _

Hands— _ too rough, too warm— _ yank him up under the arms to his feet. His swords are snatched away and the night sky starts to spin above him, beneath him, around him…

_ Luffy… where’s Luffy?  _ Zoro’s gotta make sure Luffy knows to keep the crew away from these guys—they’re no good at all. 

Then, everything goes dark and quiet. 

* * *

When Zoro comes too, it is not all at once. It is a slow rising, like swimming through a thick, dense mud that burns his skin and invades his lungs. He gasps as he breaches the surface, and his eyes open under the pressure of ten thousand weights. 

Sensations come in waves, one after the other of ebbing, gradual awareness. Firstly, he is naked. The air is borderline cold on his fever-hot skin, and it is cold  _ everywhere.  _ Secondly, the fever. That’s the only word for it: fever. His skin is too warm and too tight, too sensitive to even the touch of the air. Even the feeling of his own sweat rolling down his overheated skin is so overwhelming that he could vomit from it. 

Zoro tries to move, only to find he’s strapped down by the wrists with thick, leather buckles that chafe and sting and are just  _ too much damned sensation.  _ His muscles are so slow to obey that all he can manage is a truly pathetic jerk against the straps, and Zoro knows instantly that he’s too weak to move them. 

Once he starts moving it’s like his body can’t stop. Slow, painful jerks and tugs and wiggles and pulls against the wrist restraints have him rolling around on the cot-like surface, struggling slow and useless like an inchworm as his body burns from the inside out. 

“Oh, you're coming around,” a voice Zoro does not know observes with delight. 

His tongue won’t obey him, so Zoro just grunts, never stopping his pathetic ministrations against the bonds. 

“Don’t struggle, it’s not worth it. You’ll just exhaust yourself,” the male voice chuckles. A hand suddenly slides into his hair and  _ yanks.  _

If the feeling of being touched wasn’t overwhelming enough in this state, the pain and the sudden violence have him gagging with the force of it.  _ Too much, too much, too much,  _ his body wails. Sweat rolls off his face in great molten rivers. 

The owner of the voice hums and pets across Zoro’s face with a thick, clammy hand. He flinches, but the reaction is delayed and the man ignores it. 

“‘M gonna’ kill you,” he slurs instead of growls, tongue heavy and uncooperative in his dry mouth. 

The man chuckles. “No, no I don’t think so.” And to Zoro’s disgust, the guy hooks two fingers into his  _ mouth,  _ petting the inside of his cheek and tasting of dirt and sweat and Zoro wants to  _ bite him,  _ wants to twist away and find his swords and impale this man on so much steel he feels it in his teeth, but to his utmost horror, his body…

His body says  _ more  _ and his lips go lax around the foul-tasting intrusion, leaving him to pant and drool and glare unfocussed eyes at a plain, unremarkable ceiling. 

_ Fuck. Fuck, I’m in deep shit.  _

The man coos. “See, you’re way too pliant for that right now. That’ll be our drug taking effect. We call it ‘Lax’ because it makes your whole body relaxed and weak and needy for whatever the fuck we want.”

_ Fuck.  _

“Have you noticed yet?” the fingers in his mouth curl, pressing into his throat, but Zoro’s gag reflex has been all but gone since he was a kid thanks to three-sword-style. “No, you haven’t?”

It’s so  _ goddamn hard  _ to think past how disgusted he is, how fucking  _ shitty  _ his whole body feels, and his mind is stuck on a chorus of  _ fuck, fuck, fuck, don't fucking touch me _ —

“You’re hard,” the man whispers. 

And oh  _ fuck,  _ it’s true. The guy is right—he  _ hadn’t  _ noticed, but now it’s impossible not to. He’s as hard as fucking diamonds, lying stiff against his abdomen and throbbing in time with his sluggish, unnatural heartbeat and Zoro wants to  _ puke.  _

“That’s the wonder of Lax, Roronoa Zoro. It dials you up to one-hundred in sensitivity, need, arousal… it hijacks your muscles. Keeps you nice and cooperative and slow while it drives you crazy with the need to fuck and  _ be  _ fucked.” He chuckles, dark and sinister as anything. “You wouldn’t believe what it does to chicks. Fuckin’ turns ‘em into gysers. So wet and loose you could put anything up there. And guys? Hell, they’re almost  _ worse  _ ‘cause they don’t get wet down there, but they still want it, right? And the pain makes ‘em half-crazy.” 

He withdraws his fingers with a disgusting slurping sound that makes Zoro’s stomach turn. 

_ This is not happening,  _ he thinks.  _ This is really not happening. Any second now I’m going to wake up on Merry— _

And then with a strikingly intense terror, Zoro realizes that he  _ can’t remember how he got here.  _ He has  _ no idea  _ where the crew are, where  _ Luffy  _ is. 

_ If they have him—  _

A shout becomes a strangled, awful whine as Zoro jerks uselessly against his binds, feet kicking out uncoordinated and clumsily at nothing. 

“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna sell you quite yet. See, if we wait long enough, your brain starts to realize that the fever is going to kill you if you don’t find some release. No matter how badly you don’t want it, your body  _ will,  _ and by the time we come for you, you’ll barely have it in you to resist.” 

“‘Uffy—” 

“Ah, you’re delirious again.” A hand waves in front of his face. Strapped down like this, all Zoro can see a fat wrinkly palm blur in front of his eyes. “Hello?” the man sing-songs. A sigh, and footsteps. 

Zoro drifts for a bit, a haze of panic, anger, and confusion mingling with the drugs in his system. He’s almost out of it enough to not even feel it when another needle slides into his arm. Someone is talking, but the words are lost to him. All he can feel and all he knows is the bite of the needle and the way his body wants the touch, the pain—wants it so desperately he arches into it like a half-dead fish flopping around on land. 

In the next moment, he’s gone again, clinging to one thought and one thought only: _Don't you dare touch me._

* * *

His blood is burning so hot that his skin is going to melt right off his bones. Zoro arches his back as best as he can, throbbing erection pushing against nothing but air, and rides through a wave of full-body muscle spasms. 

His throat is so dry that it hurts to suck in air through his mouth. 

_ Pain is temporary,  _ Zoro tells himself.  _ Pain is temporary.  _

Hawkeyes floats in front of him, his tiny dagger pointed to the hollow of Zoro’s throat. Those fucking eyes burn like the sun and Zoro wants to scream to make the image go away. He knows he's hallucinating, but it's hard to _think_ past all the fog in him. 

“Pathetic,” Hawkeyes spits, disdain spelled out clearly in every inch of him. “Die on your feet, with honor.”

Zoro wiggles his toes. A full body shiver has him gasping into Hawkeyes’ face moments later. 

“Weak,” Hawkeyes speaks with Kuina’s long-dead voice. 

Zoro clenches his eyes shut.  _ Pain is temporary. Pain is temporary.  _

He loses himself again. 

* * *

The Hallucination doesn't come back.

* * *

Distant shouting reaches him like noise through a blanket. Blood rolls down his wrists from where his nails have been gouging crescent-shaped holes into his palms. Zoro can’t tell if the sounds of battle are real or if they’re imagined. Maybe it’s the sound of his own body, fighting itself to pieces. 

His dick jerks and twitches against his own abdomen, sliding through the puddle of pre and sweat that’s accumulated there like a burning lake. Incredible, unbearable weakness overwhelms him, and Zoro moans. 

Too much and not enough—he needs to be… he needs…  _ he needs—  _

A shout, undeniably real, and a dull thud of flesh colliding with something hard and unyielding reaches him. It’s like a bubble of awareness stretches out and pops. Then, the sound he’s both craved and prayed to avoid more than anything— 

A rubbery  _ twang _ and Luffy’s unmistakeable battle cry of  _ Gomu-gomu no pistol.  _

_ Fucking please—  _

But he’s not sure what he’s begging for. 

_ This will ruin you. He’ll want to save you and it will ruin you. You’ve already wanted him since the very beginning, do you really think your relationship will survive this?  _

_ It’s Luffy,  _ the other part of his brain cries out.  _ It’s Luffy, it’s Luffy, he won’t even know. He won’t even understand. But he won’t let you die.  _

And isn’t that a thought? 

The door bursts off its hinges with a terrible shriek of metal-on-metal. It echoes across the room with a bang when it lands. Zoro can’t even see it—can’t even see who’s in the room with him, strapped down as he is. 

_ “Zoro,”  _ and  _ oh. _

His stomach doesn’t just drop. Zoro’s stomach _plummets_. 

It’s  _ Sanji.  _ It’s  _ Sanji  _ and he wants to disappear. It’s  _ Sanji  _ getting an eyeful of him strapped down, naked, breathless, and so erect it hurts. It’s  _ Sanji  _ and Zoro—

_ Cannot deal with that.  _

“Cook,” he grunts, and he’s proud of himself for even getting the word out, his mouth is so numb and dry and tingling. 

“Fuck,  _ fucking,  _ shit-fuck,  _ LUFFY!”  _ The Cook screams. A different voice entirely yelps in terror and then it’s Sanji again, growling low and dangerous, “What the fuck did you do to him?” 

Zoro hates that the sound of Sanji like that makes him shiver, makes his dick twitch pathetically against his abdomen. He’s always felt  _ something  _ every time Sanji goes dangerous and aggressive and wild like that—hell, it’s half of the reason why he loves to rile him up so much. But now? Here? God, Zoro thinks he would pretty much  _ beg  _ to get his mouth anywhere near the Cook’s dick right now. 

“I-... It’s—it’s a drug, experimental. It—it makes the whores _ need  _ sex, makes it so they won’t fight baa---!” the voice trails into a shout as no doubt Sanji does something  _ unpleasant  _ to the man. 

“What do you mean ‘ _ need’?”  _ He hisses, voice seething, and  _ oh  _ how Zoro’s hands twitch with the need to  _ touch, touch, touch—  _

“The fever! The fever, i-it—it’ll kill him! It’ll fry his brain unless he can get off. You can’t take him out of here, he won’t survive the trip,” the man stutters, still vicious, still  _ cruel  _ despite his fear. “He’ll die before you can get him to a doctor—he’ll die  _ gagging  _ for it—”

The distinctive  _ slap-slap-slap  _ of Luffy’s sandals draw close, but Zoro’s preoccupied when  _ oh holy hell  _ someone is  _ touching him—  _

Hands are fumbling with the buckles at his wrists, the  _ Cook’s  _ hands, and Zoro cries out and jackknifes half-off the table. 

The touch disappears instantly and Zoro fucking  _ whines.  _ “Shit, fuck! Did I hurt you?” Sanji asks, blonde hair swimming into Zoro’s vision. 

He swallows, hard. “D-don’t f-fucking  _ stop,”  _ is all Zoro can manage, his whole body twitching for contact. 

Sanji swears under his breath and  _ oh thank fucking god,  _ a hand grabs his shoulder and stays there as another goes back to work on the bonds. 

“They really fucked you up,” the Cook says as the first buckle falls. 

Zoro barks out a laugh that feels more like a scream than anything. Another spasm rolls through him, and his freed hand flops gracelessly to the side. “N-no shit, Curly.”

“Zoro! Sanji!” Luffy hollers, sandals audibly skidding against the floor as he barges into the room. His voice immediately darkens. “What’s wrong with Zoro?”

“Those shitty bastards fucking drugged him,” the Cook spits with real ire in his voice. “They fucking gave him a  _ rape  _ drug, Luffy. He needs to—he needs… or he’ll  _ die.  _ And you don’t even—you don’t even  _ know  _ what I’m talking about, do you?” 

Zoro’s other wrist comes free and he immediately rolls off the table he was strapped down to and onto the cold floor with a hard impact that he barely even feels. The lack of skin to skin contact is all that he registers, his whole body lighting up like a live-wire of sheer deprivation and Zoro’s going to  _ scream.  _

“I know what sex is, Sanji,” Luffy says, but Zoro hardly cares because there are  _ hands on him again.  _

“I’m sorry, you  _ what?”  _ The cook shrieks. His voice is closest to Zoro, so it’s gotta be his hands that are doing that  _ amazing thing,  _ rubbing slow circles into the skin at the base of Zoro’s neck and bracing him with a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Zoro’s dick has to go inside somethin’, right? And that’s what this stuff is for?” What  _ “this stuff”  _ is, Zoro has no idea, too preoccupied with his complete and utter inability to get his body to  _ move.  _ He can’t even raise his arm to touch himself. 

“Wha—!? Who  _ taught you that word?!”  _

Sanji is kneeling on the ground with his hands on Zoro and Zoro’s completely incapable of hitting him, so he settles for rolling his head into the Cook’s thigh— _ strong, warm, insanely powerful thighs, he could crush my skull with those legs and I would thank him— _ and that sets him off again, hips rolling against nothing and body twitching for something that won’t come. His cock fucking  _ aches  _ and Zoro can’t help it, he arches back into the press of Sanji’s hands and moans like a whore. 

The room is deathly silent. 

_ “Fuck,”  _ Sanji swears. “He’s so far gone.”

Sandals slapping. The clatter of some container against the floor. A new hand, gently but insistently pulling at Zoro’s knee and  _ oh  _ he goes to  _ pieces.  _

“L- _ Luffy,”  _ Zoro whines, legs falling open easy as anything to his Captain’s hands. 

“Hi Zoro,” Luffy chimes, as if this is just another day and he’s waking Zoro up for lunch or dinner. “Wow, it’s  _ purple.”  _

He barks out a laugh. He can’t  _ not.  _

“Stay with us, Marimo,” Sanji says, oddly soft. 

“Zoro, can you open your eyes?” It’s a herculean effort, but his captain asked, so Zoro does. Luffy’s face swims into view, his straw hat crooked on his head, his dark hair wild and his eyes sincere and focussed. “Ace always said, no matter what, that you need to ask permission. Can I save Zoro?”

Oh.  _ Oh,  _ Zoro loves him. He loves him so,  _ so  _ much. 

“Yeah.” He says it again, louder. “Yeah.” 

“Yosh! Sanji, can you hold him so—yeah, like that!” 

The Cook is behind him now, Zoro’s head  _ in his fucking lap,  _ one hand still squeezing his shoulder and another carefully combing his sweaty, matted hair out of his face. Zoro could  _ cry  _ for the gentleness of it, each brush of the cook’s fingers like goddamn lightning. 

“I’ve never done this before!” Luffy remarks, cheery and casual. 

Sanji  _ sputters  _ and Zoro forces his eyes open—when had they closed again?—to catch the baffled, frustrated, red-cheeked expression on his face. 

“Don’t—don’t  _ announce  _ that!” The cook hisses. 

Zoro swallows. “Me neither,” he rasps. And it’s true. He never has. Not with a single other soul. 

He’s never even wanted to. (Except, sometimes, when he’s fighting the Cook, their bodies match perfectly—a give and take and give-some-more and take-some-more balanced on a knife’s edge and crackling with so much  _ potential,  _ so much  _ energy  _ that Zoro has thought,  _ I want you. I want to consume you.  _ Or except, sometimes, when Luffy’s being clingy, a rubber human cape dangling off his neck and laughing freely against the bare skin of neck and Zoro has thought,  _ I wonder what other sounds you make. I wonder if you’d make them for me as freely as you laugh. _ )  __

And now he’s  _ here  _ and Sanji is looking at him with naked wonder on his face and a, “Really,  _ never?”  _ on his tongue. 

Luffy’s hands are gentle, but forceful as he rearranges Zoro’s legs. Zoro stares up, unfocussed as his eyes are right now, and tells him, “Really. Never.” 

“I’m gonna’ kill them. I’m going to go back out there, and I’m going to kill every last one of them,” Sanji vows, something dark in his eyes. It makes Zoro shiver. Sanji’s hand reaches for one of Zoro’s own and holds it tight. He even weaves their fingers together. 

A sound claws out of his throat and his dick twitches, drooling another thick string of precum all over the mess on his stomach. He’s been too preoccupied with Sanji to register the slick sounds coming from Luffy’s direction. They’re downright  _ lewd.  _

“What are you—?” Zoro asks and tries to sit up, only to realize he still has not a single ounce of motor control. Sanji makes another pass through his hair with a careful, tender hand. 

“He’s just getting ready, it’s alright, Zoro.” Sanji’s face is so fucking  _ pink.  _

His throat is so dry that on his next breath, Zoro coughs fiercely, panting ragged at the ceiling while Luffy does… whatever he’s doing. He licks his lips, but it feels like a dry sponge over sandpaper. 

“What’s wrong?” Sanji asks at the face he makes. 

God, talking is such an  _ effort.  _

“Dry,” he manages. “Really fucking thirsty.” 

A thought crosses Zoro’s mind. His dick twitches. He moans long and low in his chest and one of Luffy’s hands pressed against his hip, grounding him. Zoro can’t stop thinking about it. His hips roll up against nothing, to his utter and complete embarrassment. His eyes are fixed on Sanji’s lips—on those full fucking  _ lips  _ and Zoro is going  _ to die—  _

_ “Cook.”  _ He’s ashamed to say he  _ whined,  _ but there’s no other word for it. 

“I think Zoro wants Sanji to kiss him,” Luffy states, blunt as ever, and Zoro could kiss  _ him  _ for saying it. Luffy clambers clumsily up his legs and, naked, drops down onto Zoro’s thighs. 

_ Yes, fuck, yes, yes, touch me, yes, yes—!  _ Zoro thrashes, burying his face into the inseam of Sanji’s stupid, fancy pants and panting open-mouthed against the stitching. 

“W-why would he want that, you idiot!?” 

“Kissing is wet, right? And Zoro’s mouth is dry?” As casual as anything, Luffy wraps a slick hand around Zoro’s cock. 

Zoro  _ screams.  _ He doesn’t come, but  _ god  _ does it feel like he does. Sanji squeezes his limp hand and Luffy starts to move his hand and Zoro sees  _ stars.  _

“Fine, but don’t fucking punch me,” Sanji grumbles. Hands find Zoro’s face and turn it upwards. He can feel the shifting muscles of Sanji’s abdomen as the man bends down, nearly folded in half, and presses a shaky, upside-down kiss to Zoro’s bone dry lips. 

_ Oh. Oh. Oh.  _ He opens up his mouth and tries to drink him down like water. Sanji makes a small sound of surprise, an abrupt,  _ “mmph!”  _ and Zoro feels that little sound like a straight shock to his spine. It’s messy, it’s heated, it’s not anything Zoro ever allowed himself to imagine. 

Sanji pulls away with a slick sound, one hand firm on Zoro’s shoulder to stop him from chasing after those  _ damn fucking lips—how does he taste so good?  _

“Fucking shit, Zoro, let me  _ breathe, _ ” Sanji pants. 

But there’s no time to respond. No time at all. 

Zoro barely understands what’s happening, at first. The head of his dick is bumping against something he can’t identify, something  _ wet  _ and  _ warm,  _ and Luffy’s hand is guiding it there. There’s an unbelievable pressure that gives with a sudden pop and a gasp that isn’t his own. And then— 

Luffy slides down the length of his dick in one impossibly tight, impossibly wet, impossibly hot  _ push.  _

Zoro’s eyes roll back in his head and for a moment, he worries he’s really actually  _ dying.  _ It feels so fucking good, so unbelievable, that it almost  _ hurts.  _ He could  _ cry  _ with the relief of it—the pressure and warmth and friction is everything his overwrought body has wanted for  _ hours,  _ now. Hell, he might  _ be  _ crying. 

“Okay, okay, shit—Luffy, you alright?” Sanji asks. 

“Mhm. Feels weird. Not bad. Just weird.” Powerful thighs flex subtly around Zoro’s waist. Two wandering hands slide up the sweaty length of his chest, tracing his scar, and Zoro  _ sobs.  _

“Just. Um. You just move when you’re ready,” Sanji offers. 

And,  _ fuck it all,  _ Luffy  _ does.  _

They  _ fuck.  _ They fuck and it’s raw and primal. It’s all heat and friction and sweat and  _ sound  _ and most of that last one is coming from Zoro himself. Truly  _ desperate  _ sounds just  _ pushed  _ all the way out of him with every  _ bounce, bounce, bounce  _ of Luffy on his dick. 

He wants. God he  _ wants.  _ He wants to see him. Wants to see his Captain, like this. Wants to see Sanji see it, too, but his eyes won’t cooperate and he just keeps crying out like death itself is coming for him. 

Sanji’s hand pets idly over Zoro’s face, tipping his head back so he can breathe better and isn’t smothering himself into the cook’s lap. The touch sparks a memory sparks an urge—overwhelming and powerful—and so Zoro chases those fingers with his mouth. 

Sanji gasps and probably says something, too, but Zoro can’t hardly hear it over the slick  _ slap, slap, slap  _ of Luffy’s thighs and ass against him and the voice in his head crying  _ yes, yes, yes, want him, want this, want his hands in my mouth, no one else’s, never again—  _

And finally, Zoro wins. Those sinful fingers that make masterpieces out of food and balance cigarettes like something delicate are hot and sweet and undeniably  _ Sanji  _ in his mouth. Zoro closes his lips around them and  _ sucks.  _

The fever inside of him is building into an explosive, swelling chorus. 

With a twist of his hips and a careful application of force pushing Zoro— _ holding Zoro down  _ by the chest—Luffy rips the orgasm out of him. 

The world goes white and again, Zoro is gone. 

* * *

Waves lapping dully at the hull of the ship reach him first. The air smells like home—like Sanji’s cooking and Chopper’s medicines and Nami and Robin’s perfume and the salt-soaked wood of Merry’s deck. Zoro hums contentedly, barely even half-awake, and drifts back to himself an inch at a time. 

His body is impossibly sore, like he just spent a straight twelve hours training with his heaviest weights. Chopper will  _ definitely  _ yell at him for putting his body through the ringer like this. 

But Zoro doesn’t remember training yesterday. He remembers Bactu, and he remembers the bar and—

Zoro rockets up off the infirmary bed, awake all at once and panting. 

_ Holy fucking shit.  _

“Zoro!” Nami leaps up out of the chair that’s stationed at his bedside. They’re in Chopper’s infirmary. The sun gleams through the window. Zoro has no idea what day it is, or even how he got here. 

Nami’s eyes are red and puffy with tears. She flings her arms around him and squeezes, crying ragged into his shoulder. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” she sobs. “I never should have left you behind. Zoro I’m  _ so  _ sorry.”

He touches her back gingerly. “It’s not your fault,” he says because it’s true. 

“Fucking  _ hell,  _ Zoro, do you know how worried I was?! Those guys were human traffickers. They take people just to make them slaves and Chopper says you were hopped up on  _ god knows what  _ for  _ god knows how long,  _ and I just  _ left you there!” _

“Nami, it’s alright. I’m fine,” he says. “It’s not on you. I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings—”

She hits him, hard upside the back of the head. “You don’t get to blame yourself, asshole!” 

The infirmary door creaks open and Luffy and Chopper rush inside. 

“He’s awake! Someone, get a doctor!” Chopper cries. 

“That’s you, Chopper!” Nami shouts in between hiccuping tears. 

“Zoro was asleep  _ forever,”  _ Luffy drawls. In one hand, he has all three of Zoro’s swords, which he promptly drops at the foot of the bed before retreating a careful distance away. The sight of his blades settles something deep in Zoro’s chest, despite Luffy’s odd behavior.

Chopper weeps a little while checking him over, Nami eventually pulls herself together and screams at him and at Luffy for being reckless around the infirmary, Luffy continues to make a nuisance of himself, and gradually, the rest of the crew spills in to say hello. All except the cook. 

The drugs took a lot out of him, Chopper explains. By the time Luffy and Sanji got him back to the ship, he was severely dehydrated, still experiencing painful muscle spasms, but the fever had at least broken. 

“You’ll be tired for a few more days at least,” Chopper says, putzing around the infirmary. “You slept a solid twenty-two hours, but I’d expect that you’re still feeling pretty rough. I’ve been studying the composition of the drug and, Zoro, it’s really nasty stuff. You need to take it easy for awhile.” 

He grunts dismissively. 

Chopper spins around and glares at him. “That means absolutely  _ no  _ training, Zoro.” 

“Fine,” he acquiesces. 

Although Luffy hovers close, he’s careful to avoid touching Zoro’s skin, and there’s something oddly withdrawn and quiet about him that has Zoro worried. So, when he pipes up from the corner, Zoro’s stomach drops. 

“Chopper, can I talk to Zoro for a bit?”

Nami and the others have already trickled out, reassured by his return to the world of the living.

_ Oh.  _

Chopper eyes them warily before sighing in a manner way too old for him to have mastered yet. “Sure, but no roughhousing, alright?” 

The door clicks closed behind him and Zoro waits for the other shoe to drop. 

“Does Zoro forgive me?” Luffy asks. 

“ _ What? _ What for?”

“For doing  _ that  _ with you while you were all… like that. Sanji said you couldn’t really  _ confess  _ because you were drugged and not there, even though I asked you.” 

It takes Zoro a moment to catch up. “You mean  _ consent?  _ Luffy, you didn't—” Zoro sucks in a breath. He can’t say the word. He can’t, but he has to, because this is Luffy, and he can never have him believe that he could be capable of  _ that. _ “You didn’t  _ rape  _ me, Luffy. I said yes and I meant it.”

Luffy frowns, his face scrunched and pained. “But you were drugged. The drug didn’t give you a choice.” 

“No, but you did.” They stand in horrible silence for a few moments. “Luffy, c’mere.” 

He pulls him onto the bed and Luffy collapses on top of him, sighing deep. “You forgive me?” 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” A pause. “Luffy, are you okay? You… you didn’t really get a choice, either.” 

“If Zoro’s okay, I’m okay,” Luffy says, voice firm. “Sanji isn’t okay, though.” Zoro’s stomach sinks. “Sanji’s really upset.”

Zoro swallows. “Okay. I’ll talk to him.” 

When Chopper returns, he finds the two of them tangled up together on the infirmary bed, fingers intertwined and hands resting over Zoro’s heart. 

* * *

Sanji has somehow managed to avoid Zoro for the last two days. Chopper won’t let him out of the infirmary out of concern that Zoro would go train, and Sanji has no reason to go  _ into  _ the infirmary. He’s even been sending the others with meals, never coming close to the room himself.

In the early morning of day three back in the conscious world, Zoro peels himself out of the bed and creeps into the kitchen. 

Sanji is bent over the stove, whisking something in a bowl furiously, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his collar popped around his neck. He’s fresh out of the shower, Zoro can tell by the clean soap smell and the sharpness of the cook’s froo-froo cologne. Stupid early riser. Sanji is always up before any of them, always working. 

“Get out, Luffy. Nothing is ready yet,” Sanji gripes without even turning around. He sounds tired, Zoro notes. 

“Not Luffy, Shithead.” 

Sanji startles visibly and goes ramrod still. He takes a deep breath and gestures sharply at the barstools. Zoro goes. He sits. And then he waits. 

“I owe you an apology,” Sanji says, stiff and awful and all-wrong. He still hasn’t turned around. 

“No, you don’t.”

“Shut the fuck up, Zoro—”

“No, you and Luffy both are so fucking stupid.” He lurches out of his seat, walking around the counter top and reaching for Sanji, spinning him around harshly and looking him straight in the eyes. 

The bags under his visible eye are severe and dark. Sanji looks like he’s barely slept. Under Zoro’s hands, his shoulders are tense and anxious and stiff. He looks like a man waiting for a blow. 

“Stop giving yourself shit over something that wasn’t your fault.”

Sanji explodes under his hands. “How the fuck is it not our fault?!” he shouts, jerking out of Zoro’s hands and pacing the length of the kitchen. He laughs, brutal and self deprecating. “You were  _ drugged.  _ Luffy had to—had to  _ do what he did  _ to save your life and I fucking  _ held you down  _ while he did it. You can’t fucking excuse that, Zoro! We—” he cuts himself off, shaking. “We fucking  _ raped  _ you,” he whispers, savage for all that it is quiet. 

“No, you damn well did  _ not.  _ I said  _ yes,  _ you idiot. Luffy asked and I said  _ yes!”  _

“You were drugged out of your mind! You would have said yes to  _ anyone!”  _

“No, I wouldn’t, and I didn’t!” Zoro shouts. “I was there for  _ hours,  _ Cook. You think other people didn’t  _ try?”  _ Sanji jerks back like he’s been shot, mouth dropping open and horrified. Zoro’s hardly let himself think about it, but he needs to say it. He needs to. “When I woke up, the fucking ring-leader was there, and he was touching me. I was fucking  _ out of it,  _ Cook. I was six-sheets-to-the-wind, hard as fucking rock, and the fucker touched me and said all this shit about fucking me and I  _ hated  _ it. I wanted to fucking kill him, but I couldn’t  _ move _ . He put his fucking fingers in my mouth and tried to get me to choke on them and it was  _ disgusting.”  _

“Stop,” Sanji rasps, looking sick.

“I didn’t say yes to him, Cook. I didn’t and I never would have. But I said yes to Luffy. I meant it. Just because I was drugged doesn’t mean I didn’t know what I wanted—”

“—you didn’t want it!” Sanji screams. 

Zoro lurches forward, grabbing him around the shoulders and dragging Sanji bodily into a crushing embrace. “Don’t tell me what I did and didn’t want! I’ve wanted you both for  _ ages,  _ you stupid idiot!  _ I said yes!  _ You didn’t hold me down. You didn’t force me. You didn’t take advantage. If anything, I took advantage of  _ you,  _ making you kiss me like that.” He squeezes him tight. “You didn’t rape me, Sanji. If it had been anyone else, I would have said no. You have to believe me.”

The voice that responds to him is watery with tears and absolutely flayed open to the very bone. “We took your first.”

Zoro hugs him tighter than advisable, even cupping the back of the Cook’s head. He feels him hiccup against his chest. “You didn’t take anything. They did.”

“Your first is supposed to be with someone you love, not a fuck-or-die in some dingy fucking sex hideout!”

“It  _ was,  _ you dumb asshole. It  _ was  _ with people I—” he stutters over the word, stutters and trips and falls headfirst into it anyways, because Sanji needs this and because it’s fucking true, and if there’s one thing Zoro will always do, it is being honest with his nakama, “—love.” 

“You can’t—you can’t just say that,” Sanji whispers. 

“Thank you, Sanji.  _ Thank you.  _ I’m glad you were there. I’m glad Luffy was there. I’m glad it was both of you and that I didn’t die. So stop fucking beating yourself up about something that isn’t your fault.”

The cook pulls away, red-eyed and sniffling, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “How can you ever look at me the same again?” he breathes, sounding so thoroughly crushed that Zoro is half-tempted to turn the ship back around and go kill every last one of those assholes. 

“Well, I won’t.” Sanji flinches like he’s been struck, but Zoro isn’t done. “I can’t because I know… I know what you taste like now, and it’s been driving me crazy how much I like it.” He admits this only to the ceiling, staring straight up at the support beams there and praying that Sanji takes that decently. 

“You’re…” Sanji huffs out a sound that Zoro would dare to call a laugh. “You’re so unbelievable.” 

Zoro shrugs. 

A moment passes in weighted—but not uncomfortable—silence. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Shit, you stupid moss. Fine. But we’re not doing…  _ this  _ without Luffy or I think he’d actually kick our asses.” And before Zoro can ask what  _ “this”  _ means, there is a hand on his arm and a gentle, fleeting kiss on his cheek. 

_ Oh.  _

“Now get out of my kitchen, I have breakfast to make.” 

Zoro snags him by the wrist as he passes, dragging him back over and planting a kiss right on that shocked, stupid, beautiful face that held him so gently while he was falling apart. He slips his tongue in when Sanji makes that same shocked sound from before and gets another go at that taste he was too out-of-it to properly catalog. 

When they part, Sanji is red faced, panting, and looks so thoroughly kissed out of his mind that it takes all of Zoro’s considerable self control not to immediately drag him back again. 

“A-asshole,” Sanji stutters. “You use too much tongue. You’re just as bad as Luffy,” he accuses, stalking away to the stove like he’s mad, although the giant smile on his face betrays him. 

It hits Zoro a minute later. “Wait. What do you  _ mean  _ ‘as bad as Luffy?!’ You were kissing Luffy?!” 

“IT’S BEEN A WEIRD FEW DAYS, OKAY!?”

Zoro laughs all the way out the gallery, as light as a feather. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://trixree.tumblr.com/)


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